


snowfall blankets the ground, it covers the ugly truth.

by donchaeds



Series: the monster and the man - helliam/willry one shots collection [6]
Category: Five Nights at Freddy's
Genre: Angst, BAMF Henry Emily, Canon Compliant, Christmas Dinner, Creep William Afton | Dave Miller, Crying Child's name is Oliver, Dog Death be careful, F/M, Henry Emily is Trying, Henry and Laurel but it's the spiderman meme, Hints at Emotional and Physical abuse, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, M/M, Michael Afton Needs a Hug, Michael Afton POV, Mrs Afton's name is Laurel Afton, Mrs Emily is irish to piss William off, Mrs Emily's name is Aine Emily, Oh wait, Precious Michael Afton, Scared Michael Afton, This literally the fic version of Melanie Martinez's Dollhouse, Unhealthy Relationship aftermath, Unhealthy Relationships, Unresolved Emotional Tension, William Afton is still not a murderer but Fuck we are Getting There, William Afton | Dave Miller being a Jerk, fuck i almost forgot, fucked up families, it's the angsty christmas fic for me, mentioned animal death, sorry- i'm sorry, william afton's a+ parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:13:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28238265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/donchaeds/pseuds/donchaeds
Summary: Michael could not bring himself to ask why Mr Emily was so keen on keeping up with this awkward thing every single year. It didn’t take a genius to realize the friendship between his father and his partner had turned into a struggling, work-only relationship at this point. So why forcing and testing it by inviting them over for Christmas every single year?He had tried to voice his thoughts in the car, on the way to the Emily household, but his father had sent him a death glare that had had his mouth fall shut mid-sentence.He never questioned one of those.or: Christmas angst in the Afton-Emily households.
Relationships: Henry Emily/Charlotte "Charlie" Emily's Mother, William Afton | Dave Miller & Henry Emily, William Afton | Dave Miller/Mrs. Afton/Original Female Character(s)
Series: the monster and the man - helliam/willry one shots collection [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1987195
Comments: 17
Kudos: 38





	snowfall blankets the ground, it covers the ugly truth.

Michael could not bring himself to ask why Mr Emily was so keen on keeping up with this awkward thing every single year. It didn’t take a genius to realize the friendship between his father and his partner had turned into a struggling, work-only relationship at this point. So why forcing and testing it by inviting them over for Christmas every single year?

He had tried to voice his thoughts in the car, on the way to the Emily household, but his father had sent him a death glare that had had his mouth fall shut mid-sentence.

He never questioned one of those.

So… there he was, leg bouncing in place as he nervously waited for the Emily’s door to swing open before his eyes, while his breathing, dense and white in the cold December air, warmed and reddened his cheekbones every time it left his mouth.

William shot his son a warning glance, extending his free arm – the one around which Elizabeth’s both arms were not wrapped and tugging at – to ring the doorbell. Michael averted his eyes, instinctively turning to his mom, who was doing her best to shield the little boy in her arms from the wind.

She was quiet, and waiting. It felt as if she was collecting all of her strengths and holding on to those few seconds before she had to stir her mouth in a smile and keep it on throughout the whole night. Michael understood _that_. It came as no news for their family after all, having to behave differently in public.

He looked at her as she put his four-year-old brother’s down from her arms, fixing his coat on him and eventually reaching to fix a lock of ginger hair that was cascading over her own forehead and onto her green, misted eyes.

The door opened. Everyone’s heads snapped forward.

Mr Emily welcomed them at his doorstep. He looked nervous, unsure what he was doing, as his eyes jumped from one Afton to the other until he had taken all of them in and was finally ready to greet them. It was kind of funny, or it would have been if everyone hadn’t been so _tense_.

“William, Laurel”, he said, polite and formal, shaking Michael out of his thoughts once again.

“Henry”, his father said back, nodding in cold acknowledgment.

“Thank you for having us, Henry”, his mother replied, widening her smile, “say hi, kids. Come on.”

“Merry Christmas uncle Henry!” Elizabeth jumped in, shameless as always. Michael felt himself stiffening, but his father didn’t call her out.

“Good evening, Mr Emily”, he saluted, before he gave himself the chance to forget to.

“Hi Mr Emily”, his younger brother followed through, stumbling onto the “r”.

Henry strained a smile at all of them. “It’s our pleasure, Laurel. Merry Christmas. Please suit yourself. Liz, Charlie has been asking for you all day.”

The six-year-old girl started swinging from one leg to the other. “She has?? Heard that Mike? I’m the best babysitter.”

Michael rolled his eyes, and Mr Emily moved to the side, swinging the door wider, accepting them all into his house.

Michael made himself smaller on his chair as Mrs Emily served him a scoop of mashed potatoes into his plate while talking about some anecdote about raising multiple children at once. Frankly, he just wanted to leave the table and go play with the others in the living room, under the Christmas tree. He hated being a teen. He hated to have to be sitting with the adults.

“Like, I always wanted kids, of course. That’s something me and Henry have in common. But I had assumed I was going to take my time getting accustomed to raising one, before I had the chance to actually want another, like you guys did with little Lizzie and even younger Oliver. You can imagine my reaction when I realized we were going to have _twins_? I was a mess. I was so sure I wasn’t going to make it. Can’t believe they’ll be two years old in a couple months!”

She was making her way around the table, serving everyone sitting at it before she took a seat between her husband and Michael’s mother. He could only see a third of her face now, but her voice was still loud enough to reach his ears, despite the sounds of laughter and babbling that came from the other room.

Mrs Emily, or Aine, was very different from his mom.

His mom was prettier, and she had long ginger hair and delicate, green eyes. Mrs Emily was pretty too, but in a different way. She kept her brown hair short, and her cheekbones were sharper than Laurel’s. She was slimmer and taller. Her eyes were bright and lively, yet narrower. Plus, she had freckles, just like her husband, and she spoke in an accent that Michael had some trouble understanding at times. But then again, he wasn’t one to make fun of someone with an accent when he himself had taken up that slow, British way to pronounce words that he had learnt from both his parents at his earliest stages of life.

His father didn’t seem to be of the same advice. Not when he walked home and announced “Henry and the Irish one want us over for Christmas”, nor when he purposefully mispronounced her name and read it like it was written, instead of “Awn-yah”, like it was supposed to be spoken.

Whether he held a grudge against her nationality as a whole or he simply disliked her as a person, Michael wasn’t sure. He couldn’t find it in himself to ask him, either, for obvious reasons. The same reasons he had refrained from pointing out how similar their hairstyles were the first time he had noticed it.

“Isn’t that right, Laurel, dear?”

Michael was distraught by the question, and he realized he hadn’t been paying attention to her monologue at all. What caught his attention, however, was the sudden _reaction_ his mom had had to Mrs Emily reaching for her shoulder while calling her.

She had jumped in her chair at the slightest contact, chin snapping upwards and eyes widening just before she was actually given a chance to think better of it. Her face had whitened, then regained colour as soon as she had managed to standardize her breathing.

The entire table had fallen quiet.

“God, I– ” she started, looking around. “I’m sorry, Aine, I was lost in thought… what where you saying?” she exhaled, looking anywhere but on Mrs Emily.

The woman did not seem to notice. She simply retracted her hand from Laurel’s shoulder back into her lap and laughed it off, as if it were funny and not odd, nor concerning. Michael felt himself slowly leaning into his chair, felt his jaw clenching. He was not imagining this, was he? It was so obviously out of place, he could not be the only one sensing it.

“Don’t worry, dear, it’s alright”, Mrs Emily smiled at his mother, and it was a genuine, bright smile – one that had Michael wondering if it were possible for one person to be so blind.

“My Henry does react that way, every time he’s caught by surprise, too”, she explained, and Mr Emily’s head snapped up at her words. His mom, on the other side of the table, nodded, visibly trying to keep her composure.

“Does he?” she asked, and Michael knew she did for the sake of saying anything at all.

“Yes! He gets so easily startled by the smallest thing. Two days ago, he was stressing over this dinner – ”

“Aine, please” Henry interrupted, suddenly breaking into the conversation. Michael noticed his father leaning over the table to partake it, too. Mrs Emily smiled at her husband, but otherwise kept on narrating.

“…he _was_ , even though he clearly doesn’t want you guys to know. Anyway, he was stressing over this Christmas dinner and I was desperately trying to calm him down. I was like, ‘darlin, it’s no big deal! We’ve been doing this for three years now, we’ll get on just fine!’ and I touched his cheek to comfort him. He _instantly_ retracted, is what I’m telling you. He widened his eyes as if he’d seen a ghost.”

She took her husband’s hand in her own, resting the latter onto his knuckles and on the table. Mr Emily’s eyes followed the movement carefully, as if he wanted to prepare for it, but still seemed to flinch the slightest bit when her fingers touched his.

The man swallowed and raised his gaze back on his wife, then on Michael’s mom, then, quickly, on his father, and back on Laurel. That last action was mirrored by the ten years old boy, whose eyes trailed from the man to his mother and back a few times. The entire conversation felt… wrong, and he was itching to leave.

He urged so even more, when his father spoke up for the first time in a while.

“He’s always been easily frightened, our Henry”, he said, fixing his cold stare on Mr Emily and Mr Emily only. There was a smile in his tone, and that genuinely scared Michael. Henry stared back at him, swallowing again. He looked distressed, his brown eyes unreadable as he listened to his work partner and, presumably, friend.

Everyone had turned their attention on William, by then, so the man kept on talking.

“And not fond of physical touch either, isn’t he?”

He was _clearly_ asking Mrs Emily, but his pupils never left his partner nonetheless. Henry seemed frozen in place, as if Michael’s father’s eyes on him were enough to keep him still and incapable to move.

“Exactly!” the shorthaired woman replied giddily, cutting the tension once more. “He’s very avoidant and careful with his personal space. I’ve learnt to leave him his comfort zone over time; he seems to need it anyway”.

Michael was aware her tone was nothing but affectionate, but he still cringed at the way she and his father kept on talking about the man in question as if he weren’t in the same room. And had she really not realized he was not comfortable with the topic? Did she just not care?

He quietly observed the Emily man pushing his glasses onto his nose, focused eyes on his dad until the latter flashed him a smirk that had him avert his gaze and lay it on the plate sitting in front of him.

He did not _understand_. Michael always had a similar reaction whenever his father looked at him, but it mostly came with the fact that William’s looks at him were always stern and threatening. Never friendly, nor playful.

_But then again, that smirk was neither of those things either, was it?_

Michael blinked, taking in the picture of Mr Emily lowering his head until his dad wasn’t in his peripheral vision anymore.

_It was mocking._

He shuddered, shaking his head to distract himself from the train of thought he had accidentally indulged. Both his father and Mrs Emily looked as if they weren’t done with the awkward conversation, and Michael was willing to let them keep talking, for all he cared.

Then, his eyes landed on his mom. She looked just as distressed as Mr Emily did, and her face was pale and misted. She wasn’t okay, of course, but that wasn’t what concerned him. She didn’t _look_ okay _either_. And his mom, she always managed to look okay when she actually wasn’t. She was… was she breaking?

His father cleared his throat, pointing his elbow on the table. “I remember when we – ”

“The Neiman’s dog disappeared last week” he irrupted, without giving it a second thought. He was met by one familiar ice-like glare, which had him shivering, but he prompted himself to ignore it, endure it.

“Pardon me?” Mrs Emily asked, frowning at the sudden switch to the conversation. She was immediately followed by her husband, who pointed out: “Isn’t that the family that comes to Freddy’s every Saturday since we opened it?”

William leaned back against his chair.

“Yeah”, he said, drawing the sound. “They are also our neighbours”.

“Oh”, Aine said, narrowing her eyes as she picked apart their reply. “Well that’s a shame. I’m sure they’ll find it eventually. Hurricane is a small city after all.”

She sounded as if she wanted to dismiss the newly opened conversation as soon as possible, so Michael found himself once again rushing to keep it going. “No, I don’t – I don’t think they will”, he said. He was aware it had sounded to cryptic not to raise any more questions. He didn’t, however, expect to earn one from his own father.

“Why not, Michael?”, he prompted him. His tone was annoyed, with a hint of challenging.

He swallowed.

“Because they found a pot of blood at the end of the road, and they think… they think someone might have run him over and hidden the evidence.”

The silence was deafening, and urged him to leave. He didn’t. He couldn’t.

“Well”, William started, crossing his arms in front of him, “serves them right for letting it roam round in the entire neighbourhood all the damn time.”

“William!” Henry jumped in, eyes snapping to his partner’s.

“For God’s sake – alright, Michael, go call the kids, please. I’m bringing the pudding”, Mrs Emily called, proceeding to stand up from her seat and rush to the kitchen.

Michael felt everyone’s eyes on him.

He looked down, stood up, and dragged his legs to the living room.

Elizabeth was sitting across him, at the other side of the table, with a mouthful of pudding stuffed into her mouth. Oliver and Sammy quietly ate theirs. Charlotte attentively waited for someone to talk, as if she was eager to learn as many things about the adult world as possible. Michael wished he could unlearn some.

And it was still so damn _quiet_. And the blame was on him. He had been the one to kill the mood with gruesome details about a dog’s disappearance. No one actually cared that it had already gotten twisted and uncomfortable long before he even spoke. Not as long as no one had pointed that out.

Then Liz, of course, went and broke the silence as only she could.

"Daddy, is Santa going to come visit us this year?"

The adults at the table exchanged a glance. Everyone turned their heads at his father, who furrowed his brows before pointing his eyes at his daughter.

"I don't think he will, Liz”, he said sternly. “He's got other kids to visit after all."

"Actually, he is coming", Henry broke into the conversation. "He told me this morning".

Michael’s attention was summoned on the scene. _Wait_ , what was happening?

William's eyes jumped from Liz’s green orbs to his partner's brown ones, narrowing challengingly.

"Oh, has he?"

"Yes, William, actually", the shorter man confirmed, and Michael felt his face burning in what he recognized as second-hand dread. If _he_ had been in the man's place, if _he_ had used that tone with his dad, he would have been fearing for his life.

That was a stupid thought, he realized. Mr Emily was an adult. And William had no _power_ over him like he did Michael.

But then again... Henry had reacted a weird way before, when his father had been mocking him with his knowing eyes in everyone's unaware presence. So, there _had_ to be something similar going on there as well.

"I am afraid Santa forgot his clothes, Henry"

"That's what his elves are for though, aren't they?"

Michael’s attention was disrupted by the way his sister had started excitedly jumping in place at the outcome of that conversation. He found himself smiling. Kids are so _dumb_.

"Liz, you'll scare Santa away if you keep acting like a freak", he deadpanned.

She turned to him, scrunching her nose at his comment. "You are an idiot, Mike. And you're in the naughty list for sure - "

"Michael, don't talk to your sister like that” his father interrupted their exchange.

His head turned to the side, meeting his eyes.

"But father - "

"Listen to your father, Michael" his mom interrupted him mid-sentence.

Everyone around him fell quiet once more.

He swallowed, turning to his mother, looking for answers in her eyes, but…

She wasn’t even looking at him. She wasn’t even _listening_. She had been holding her forehead in the palm of her hand and blocking out all sound until then. So _why_ was she mad at him now? What had he done?

He shut his mouth, eyes to the ground as soon as they started stinging.

"Will", Henry spoke up, tentatively breaking the silence. "Follow me, please."

The taller man rolled his eyes, groaning.

"Fine. Let's do this."

"Did you really fucking have to?", William huffed, stepping into the red, flannel pants without taking his own off and fumbling with the belt he had already been wearing to move it onto the outer layer of cloth.

"No", Henry replied calmly. "But it's really fun to."

The brown-eyed man moved closer to William, sliding a dumb red hat on his head and working its sides to fit over William's ears. He pushed his lips together in concentration, hands on each side of the taller man's face. "I have a beard for you to wear too, by the way. In case you were wondering."

"I wasn't, Henry", William replied, and his tone was… not amused. "Cannot risk underestimating you, can I?"

Henry huffed in reply, but otherwise kept quiet. He moved away to reach for the fake beard he had already brought into the bathroom, but stopped when he felt a familiar pair of hands grabbing at his waist from behind him.

He felt his body shaking on the spot, his breathing cut short. He closed his eyes and swallowed, gathering all of his pride in one place before he let himself react.

"Get your hands off me, William", he said, drawing every word that left his mouth.

" _'Not fond of physical affection'_ , am I right?" The taller man mocked him. " _Startled by the smallest gesture_."

Henry shuddered, yet found it in himself to grab at William's wrists and drag his hands away from his body. “It’s not funny, Will”, he said coldly, taking deep breaths. “What you pulled at the table.”

“I hardly ever did anything, Henry. Your wife, on the other hand, served some interesting pieces of information.”

He said that, and he raised a hand that approached Henry’s face. The latter’s lips twitched, almost as if he was bracing himself to accept it, but his own hands reached to stop William’s in its tracks before the man got to touch his skin.

“Cut it.”

The taller man tilted his head to a side. Henry wanted to punch that smug look off his face.

“Tell me, Henry”, he started, stepping an inch closer. “Do you react that way to touch because I, let’s say, _scarred you_ ”, he quoted with his fingers, “or because you can’t stand the fact that it’s not me touching you?”

Henry clenched his teeth.

“If I wanted you to touch me I would have let you by now.”

“Mph”, William snorted. “True.”

The shorter man eyed him for a second, then let go of his wrist, pushing him an inch backwards from good measure.

“Wear the damn beard, fucker. The kids are waiting for Santa”, he cut it off, stepping away and out of the room.

It genuinely freaked Michael out, the way his father behaved in that unnecessarily realistic Santa Claus costume. Because, well… he genuinely sounded like he used to think Santa Claus _would_ sound when Michael he was younger. And his acting was terrifyingly on point, too. No wonder his siblings and the Emily twins were so amazed by it.

“Oh, and what do we have here? Looks like a present for…” he made a show to be inspecting the box, looking for a name written on the paper wrap, as the children screamed excitedly from the floor where they sat.

“It’s for me! Look at the wrapping, that’s my favourite colour!” Elizabeth squeaked. Michael cringed at the high-pitched sound, but refrained from drawing attention to it.

“You already got one, Liz”, Oliver complained, holding his already unwrapped toy. Sammy quietly observed the interaction. Unlike his sister, Michael realized, the little boy had yet to start talking properly. He figured it depended on the case.

“…Charlotte Emily, where is she? Oh, there she is!” William acted, turning to the little girl, who looked up at his tall figure and tentatively extended her arms to receive her present. She looked at it, then at the man who was handing it to her; she suddenly smiled brightly, with both her mouth and her eyes.

“What do we say when we receive a present, Charlie?”, Mrs Emily spoke up from behind them.

“Thanks Santa!”, the girl immediately said, before turning her gaze back onto the wrapped gift.

Elizabeth leaned in to peek at the younger girl’s gift. “Open it, silly!” she said, and the brunette snapped out of her haze and followed the instructions.

Michael inspected his father fumbling with a small package, looking for the name written on it. “Oh”, he erupted, in a voice that sounded a mix between his regular one and the Santa one.

“Looks like we got a present for Michael Afton, too.”

Michael’s eyes widened.

He hadn’t expected to receive any gift, now that he knew the identity of the man behind the costume. He tentatively stood up from his chair, getting closer to his father.

“Come on, young boy, come get your gift”, the latter prompted him, an amused smile on his face. He placed the present in his son’s hands, and Michael blinked before muttering a quick “…thanks, Santa” and starting to tear its wrapping off it.

“Santa, sir”, little Charlotte interrupted the odd interaction, grabbing the edge of William’s sleeve.

He turned to her, blue eyes narrowed in interest. “What is it, Charlotte?” he asked, bending his back forward to place his palms on his knees, in an attempt to reach the girl’s height.

“Why do you spend all Christmas giving presents to children around the world? Aren’t you sad of not getting to spend it with your family?”

William blinked.

“I enjoy making children happy, kid”, he replied, as if it were obvious. “Giving gifts makes me less sad. It’s quite lonely at the North Pole.”

She nodded in understanding. “When I grow up, I also wanna make children happy”, she decided. He titled his head to the side.

“Then I’ll make sure to ask for your help.”

“You got me a _Walkman_?”, Michael interrupted, not able to keep the surprise and excitement to himself. He held the object in both his hands, mesmerized. His father did not turn to look at him, but still straightened up and let his gaze wander around the room.

“Alright, kids, it was a pleasure meeting all of you. As you must know, I’ve got some work to get done for the night.”

He turned to give a look at the adults in the room. “Mr Emily, would you mind leading me to the door?”

Both men disappeared behind the living room’s door, and came back as just Henry Emily and William Afton. His father had his formal clothes back on, as well as his stern look. Mr Emily met the look Michael was giving them, then looked at the present in his hands. He smiled.

Michael smiled back, and put the Walkman in his back pocket, looking down.

Of _course_.

“Daddy!” Elizabeth squeaked. “Where were you? I can’t believe you missed Santa again!”

**Author's Note:**

> Yes Henry gave Michael the walkman, bacause he is a sweetheart and Michael deserves a loving parental figure.  
> What can I say. 
> 
> Ah, also. I have been meaning to write three different one-shots with very different themes. One of them being an incredibly dark one with murder, sexual content, fucked up relationship, Henry crying a lot, you know the drill. Another one occurring in the decade between 1983 and 1993 with some sort of BAMF Henry emancipation and William getting to know miss karma. Another one would be, as one of you called it in a comment, a "solo William fic", in which we get to see his thought process as he gets off to Henry, kinda like I mentioned he would in "Let's break it". 
> 
> So, wanna tell me which one you would like me to write first in the comments?
> 
> Merry Christmas everyone. May yours suck less than the one I wrote.


End file.
